


Team

by orphan_account



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Dub-con/Non-con, Jared never learned no means no, M/M, PWP, RPS - Freeform, SPN kink meme fill, bottom!Jensen, creeper!Jared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 05:51:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The team is a family; Coach Morgan is the gruff, demanding but soft-hearted father, Dr. Ackles is the calm, soothing but cajoling mother, and the players are like the rough and tumble teenagers they never wanted. Of course, every family has its problem child, and for the Sooners, it is Jared Padalecki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Team

**Author's Note:**

> This PWP was a fill for LJ's spn_hardcore Dub- and Non-con meme. Prompt was: “J2 – football player!Jared vs. team doctor!Jen. Cocky star football player ambushes introvert team doctor Jensen in his office/the locker room/the shower room. Jensen really, really hates the conceited son of the bitch, but those lips feel so, so good on his cock...”
> 
> The dub- and non-con elements of this fic are for fic purposes. In real life you need the clear verbal consent of the person you are with!

The team is a family: Coach Jeffery Morgan is the gruff, demanding but soft-hearted father, Dr. Jensen Ackles is the calm, soothing but cajoling mother, and the players are like the rough and tumble teenagers they never wanted. Jeff and Jensen love them, for the most part, though, even when the boys slack off at practice or in school or try to prank a rival team.

“Hey, Doc.”

Of course, every family has its problem child, and for the Sooners, it is Jared Padalecki. If the other boys on the team are rowdy teenagers, Jared is an ornery toddler: immature and impulsive and unable to grasp the concept of a world that does not revolve around him.

Jensen has never actually disliked any of the young men he has worked with in his six years at the university. There have been a handful of players whom he has had issues with – usually resulting from their inability to follow their doctor’s instructions, which left them unhealed and in pain and Jensen grinding his jaw in frustration – but they always reconciled, because in the end the boys realized Dr. Ackles knew what is best and that the best was all he wanted for them. Jared is proving to be the exception to the rule. He never listens to Jensen; he doesn’t do the exercises Jensen advises, he doesn’t follow the diet Jensen writes out for him, and he doesn’t listen to the words of wisdom Jensen offers. He challenges everything, not only from Jensen but from Jeff and from the university as well. He offers no respect to anyone and expects it immediately from everyone. He ignores rules, guidelines, and caution. There is a strong streak of arrogance that practically crackles along his skin, and his cockiness is all the more infuriating because it is rooted in reality; he is the star of the team, and despite his laziness when it comes to his coursework he maintains a 3.7 GPA, not to mention the fact that he is model gorgeous and stage actor talented and can strum an acoustic guitar in time with Jensen himself.

It is disappointing because Jensen thinks, maybe, in another life or in a parallel universe, he and Jared could have been friends, could have been more than friends; in this reality, however, Jensen kind of despises him.

Jared is smirking arrogantly, all dimples and soft hazel eyes – why do such sweet features have to grace such a bastard? – as easy confidence rolls off of him in waves. It crashes against Jensen, knocking him into the soft leather of his desk chair. He schools his features as Jared leans against the edge of Jensen’s desk.

“Jared,” Jensen speaks, keeping his voice calm and clear. He absolutely loathes it when Jared sits against his desk like that, upsetting all of papers organized chaotically on the surface and disrupting Jensen’s personal space. But Jensen only fights battles that are worth the effort and that he is sure to win, and when Jared is his opponent, Jensen sinks into himself, grasping for professionalism and falling into the reservation he used to wear as a second skin. It is much easier to deal with Jared on those terms. It also keeps Jensen from doing something reckless, like pushing the smugly smiling bastard from his desk, from his office, from his campus. “What can I do for you?”

Jared’s honeyed eyes sparkle. Jensen wants to sigh in resignation or perhaps scream in frustration, because he has practically walked into whatever innuendo Jared is going to answer with, but it is so impossible to say anything to Jared without him flipping its meaning into something completely inappropriate for a team doctor and a team player.

“Lots of things, Doc,” Jared answers easily, eyes and smile spilling with mischief and heat. “You could do lots of things for me. But actually, I was thinkin’ I could do a little somethin’ for you.”

That makes Jensen nervous. He thinks about rolling his chair against the wall as Jared pushes off from his desk; then he thinks about moving from his seated position, standing firm in Jared’s face, but Jared’s height and build sometimes make Jensen feel impossibly small, even though he knows Jared isn’t all that much bigger than himself. It’s just that at times, especially times when Jared seems intent on cajoling Jensen into a flustered state of indignation, Jared seems so – intimidating isn’t the word Jensen wants to use, but it may be the most accurate.

Jensen does what he generally does when he finds himself in such an awkward situation with the cocky quarterback – which is happening with greater and greater frequency, he notes unpleasantly: he curls into himself, wills the situation to stop and Jared to leave. Eventually the boy will get bored and leave Jensen to his work. Jared curls his left hand around the top of Jensen’s desk chair, then pushes, swinging Jensen around until he is facing the younger man. Jensen grits his teeth as Jared smiles wolfishly down at him.

“I’m very busy,” Jensen clips. His voice is tired, edged with a bitter tilt of exhaustion. “What I’d really like you to do for me is let me get some work done. Unless there’s something you need – ”

Jared shakes his head, so Jensen trails off. He expects a few more words, a few more twists of Jared’s wildly inappropriate humor or flirtations, or maybe an annoyed huff and scoffed words before Jared swaggers out of his office. What he does not expect Jared to do, what Jared does, is wrap his right hand around the top of Jensen’s desk chair, boxing Jensen’s head between his arms, and lean down, close enough for his breath to fan, hot and scented with cinnamon, across Jensen’s face. Jensen wants to push – reach his hands out and push Jared away, reach his feet out and push himself back, but he feels frozen. He manages to clench his jaw and narrow his eyes and he pushes with his mind, pushes every angry, heated thought he can to the surface, hoping his ire is obvious. The smile playing on Jared’s lips tells Jensen it is; it also tells Jensen the boy finds it more amusing than upsetting.

“Somethin’ you need,” Jared breathes, a rumbling whisper that carries the promise of something dark and delicious, and suddenly a sharp sting of panicangerwantfuck blooms in Jensen’s chest. “And I think I’m the only one who can give it to ya, Doc.”

“Get – ” out, Jensen is going to say, get the hell out, but the words are caught behind his teeth as Jared leans down to capture his mouth. For all of the words, the touches, the looks Jared has been giving him since he first joined the team, Jensen finds himself shocked still. Jared has been teasing him for months, but Jensen never thought – never really thought – that Jared was serious or that Jared would walk the talk he had been dropping.

Jared seems to take his lack of refusal or response as a sign of encouragement, because he pushes his tongue past Jensen’s lips, then knocks his knee between Jensen’s already spread legs. That is the moment Jensen’s surprise gives way to anger – how dare this cocky kid think he can just saunter up and kiss Jensen in his office, where any footballer or coach or administrator could see them, could get Jensen fined and fired and a hell of a lot more. A low sound of approval is sliding from Jared’s mouth into Jensen’s, so Jensen brings his hands up to push the younger man away as harshly and as quickly as he can.

“Hey, now,” Jared pants, pulling away as he feels Jensen begin shifting, only to smile indulgently as Jensen’s hands start to push at his chest. Jared grips Jensen’s wrists, left over left, right over right, and then he leans over, using his weight and upright position to pin Jensen’s hands against his shoulders. “None of that.”

“Jared, you need to let go of me and get the _fuck_ out of my office,” Jensen growls.

Jared’s response is a soft, low laugh. “Oh, I _like_ it when you talk dirty.”

Jensen pushes with his wrists again, but Jared doesn’t budge. He grits his teeth in frustration. “I’m serious, Padalecki. Get your fucking hands off me.”

The cocky grin that slides easy and butter smooth over Jared’s lips makes Jensen’s stomach drop, and he realizes with a sense of alarm that if Jared decides he doesn’t want to get his hands off of him, the young man doesn’t really have to. It sends a jolt of fire through him, sparks of rage and desire fanning through his veins. He starts to fling his arms more wildly at that. When Jared’s hands just clamp more firmly around his wrist, grip bruise tight, Jensen tries to kick. His legs are in an awkward position, though, and as he squirms he only manages to move the chair a few inches, and Jared follows, practically stumbling into his lap, as it does.

“Padalecki,” Jensen warns, hissing the last name as a warning through his clenched teeth. Jared is an overly arrogant son of a bitch, one of the worst Jensen has ever known, but if he makes it crystal clear he doesn’t want to buy what Jared is selling, then the boy will push himself from the chair and out of the office and it will be like the awkward encounter never happened. Because surely – surely – even the most self-involved dick could pick up on such an obvious sign that their attentions were unwanted.

But Jared just keeps _grinning_.

Jensen tries again, pouring every ounce of authority he can into his tone. “I’m serious, son. Whatever you thought you were going to do here – ”

“Oh, you mean what I _know_ I’m gonna do here?” He leans in, closer than before, inches away from Jensen and the doctor has to blink to re-focus his gaze on the nearing face. “Well, Doc, I _know_ I’m gonna suck you off – ”

“Like _hell_ ,” Jensen hisses. Because, seriously, like hell he would ever let this cocky little boy touch him like that. Jensen has only ever shared himself with men and women with whom he shared mutual attraction and respect; he doesn’t even _like_ Jared, even as an acquaintance, and there is just no way Jensen would ever spread his legs for a kid like the one that is currently...standing between his spread legs. “Fuck,” Jensen accidently says aloud, before he starts trying to maneuver his arms and legs again.

“Shit, never seen a guy so overexcited about a little blow job before. You pretty hard up for it, huh, Doc? Or is all that just for me?”

Jensen actually stops moving at Jared’s questions, because, well, what the actual fuck? He has no idea how he can make it anymore clear that he has absolutely no desire to let Jared touch him, has absolutely no intention of letting Jared take what he wants. Before Jensen can begin struggling again, Jared drops – fucking gracefully, bastard – to his knees. He presses the wrists he still has a firm hold of into Jensen’s stomach, holding them there lightly as he leans forward, practically nuzzling at the waistband of Jensen’s trousers. “No,” Jensen bites. Jared looks up from dragging his lips along the last button of Jensen’s shirt. “I’m serious, Padalecki. No.”

Jared doesn’t seem fazed.

“I’m serious, too, Dr. Ackles. Now why don’t you just lean back and let me – ”

“Are you fucking listening to me, kid?” Jensen practically screeches. He will take the time to be embarrassed by the tone of his voice later, when he doesn’t have a 6 foot plus douchebag pinning him to his desk chair like a fucking damsel in distress. “This is – it takes two to tango, and I’m saying I don’t want to dance. Now let me the hell up before I march down to Coach Morgan and – ”

“And what?” Jared asks, raising an eyebrow. He pushes the wrists he is holding against Jensen’s belly harder, causing the soft skin to sink. “What are you gonna tell him, Doc? Gonna tell him you’re too chicken shit to get your cock sucked? Gonna tell him you’re such a prissy prude you don’t even know how to calm the fuck down long enough to get off? Yeah, m’sure Coach is gonna be real fuckin’ impressed when you tell him how you ran away from a kid.”

Jensen has no fucking idea what to say to that. The words should shoot right into his brain, should push his fight-or-flight instincts into god damn overdrive and give him the strength to punch the smug heat from Jared’s face. They don’t. They settle somewhere in his gut, sinking hot like the slice of a particularly sharp dagger into his skin, and he feels a disturbing mixture of shame and rage and lust quaking through his limbs. He can’t afford that, though: not with an obviously unbalanced footballer kneeling between his legs, keeping him pinned to his chair with the force of not only his body but his gaze, his words.

What does it say about Jared’s mental state that he confuses rejection with cowardice? What does it say about Jensen’s mental state that Jared’s assessment might not be the furthest thing from the truth? It doesn’t matter, Jensen tells himself.

It doesn’t matter if there is even the smallest taste of truth to the bile Jared is spewing. Jared is clearly off his rocker if he thinks he has the right to Jensen’s body without Jensen’s verbal consent, and Jensen can’t let a young man like that go onto the field with the rest of his boys, can’t let him go out into the campus and into the world if this is the mindset he is carrying himself with.

“No,” Jensen finally manages, trying to keep himself under control, despite the want and the anger and the slightest tingles of fear that are dancing along his nerves. “No, I’ll tell him his star player has lost his tiny mind and is threatening to – ” And as much as Jensen wants to spit it out, as much as he thinks he needs to, as much as he thinks it could snap Jared out of whatever insanity has possessed him, he finds himself unable to utter the word aloud – finds himself unable to actually think it.

He screws his eyes shut.

He can’t say it – he can’t say force, he can't say that other word. Not in relation to himself.

Not even if it is going to save him.

“Threatening to suck your dick?” Jared chuckles, somehow sounding so light and soft despite the dark and bite of his words. “Yeah, _scary_. Don’t think Coach Morgan is gonna quite be terrified.”

Jensen shakes his head. Maybe Jared is just too much of an egotistical asshole – maybe he really hasn’t caught on to the fact that Jensen does not want him – does not want this. Maybe all he needs to do is spell it out for him. So he tries. “I don’t want you,” Jensen says. It comes out in a rush. “I don’t want you to do this - to do that - ”

“ _That_?” Jared teases, laughing even louder. “Aw, are you embarrassed? Can you say blow job? Hmm? Can you say _cock_?”

“Fuck you,” Jensen grounds out, the words harsher than any he has managed yet. Jared actually – finally – looks a bit taken aback. “I don’t want you. I don’t you to touch me, I don’t want you to kiss me, I don't want you to suck my _cock_. Are you fucking listening? I don’t want it. I don’t fucking want you.”

For a split second, Jared looks like Jensen has bitch slapped him across his infuriatingly attractive face. But then his features tighten; he somehow looks younger and older at once, and Jensen really has no idea what to expect. It certainly isn’t for Jared to push himself up and pull Jensen down to awkwardly angle their mouths together. Jensen tries to pull back only to find he’s already being released.

“Yeah,” Jared pants, nose pressed against the side of Jensen’s mouth. “Yeah, you do. You really fucking do.”

“Jesus, kid, what is _wrong_ with you.”

It’s a rhetorical question.

Jared just slides down Jensen’s body, nuzzling and nipping, before settling his cheek over the – shit fucking god damn shit – bulge of Jensen’s trousers. He slides his warm, shaven jaw over the hardness, then turns, mouthing lightly over the mound. Jensen bites his tongue but can’t stop the strangled sound that comes out of his mouth when Jared’s tongue, firm and wet and hot, begins to lap at his clothed erection.

“Shit,” Jensen says, pulling weakly at his wrists. Jared just murmurs, gusts of warm breath brushing against him, and Jensen squirms. “Stop.”

Jared licks along Jensen’s fly before he lifts his gaze. His eyes are dark, his lips are thin, and his jaw is firm; he looks like he does on the field, when he pins his next target, his next victim with his eyes then makes a resolution to decimate them. He has never missed his man.

“Why? Why should I stop? You’re so hard for me, Doc. Know you want it – fuck – know you want it so bad, want me to suck you down until you come so hard – c’mon, Doc, how long you been thinkin’ about it?”

Jensen nearly chokes on the words, but he can’t. He can’t let that happen, no matter how much his cock twitches and surges at Jared’s voice.

“I haven’t,” he swears, truthfully, and if he sounds desperate, well, he might be. “I told you – Jared, listen to me – I’m telling you, I don’t want – ”

Jensen’s protest is replaced by a groan when Jared brings his head down and closes his teeth around Jensen’s trouser clad thigh, too close to where his erection is pressing into his pants and much, much too far away.

“You can stop sayin’ that,” Jared whispers, his voice soothing despite its rumble of rage, and the tone throws Jensen so far off balance he can’t think of anything else to say. “I can feel you, Doc. Fuck. I can see you, can practically fucking smell how much you want, can - fuck, I can almost fucking taste you already – so why don’t you just let me? Gonna make you feel so good, make you forget your little innocent act, make you scream for it. All you gotta do is just let me taste that pretty cock of yours, okay? You can let me, you want to - want to let me, want to be good for me, don't ya Doc? Don't ya, Jen?”

And oh – oh Jesus Christ, what is Jensen supposed to say to that? Really, he thinks, really, what? Jared obviously isn’t listening when Jensen tells him he doesn’t want this, and neither is Jensen’s traitorous body. But he can’t just let the cocky son of a bitch touch him – suck him – because even if it’s good – and Jensen thinks, knows, that it will be, fuck, so, so good – where would it stop? Jensen knows a bastard like Jared isn’t going to blow him for free, knows he’ll expect – demand – Jensen get him off with his hands or his mouth. Would it stop there, or then? Or would Jared come back for more? Would he stop once he finally got Jensen on his back or on his hands and knees? And – fuck – would Jensen want it to?

Jensen pushes all of his remaining bravado and fight into a last ditch attempt. He pulls tiredly at his wrists, but Jared doesn’t let go. He tries to push his legs together, but Jared is directly in between them, and there is just no way even the strength of his muscled thighs can dislodge Jared's frame. He whispers, “Jared,” and thinks about saying please – please let me go, please don’t, please – but he can’t make himself beg. He attempts to make himself order, and says, “Don’t,” but it sounds pathetic and unconvincing, even to him.

Jared grins. He looks triumphant, as if he has just won a game, and with a sinking gut, Jensen realizes he has. Jared presses both of Jensen’s hands into his left, curling his fingers around Jensen’s wrists, then slowly, gently, slides his right palm down Jensen’s body. He rubs Jensen through his khakis trousers until Jensen can no longer keep the moan from his lips. Then Jared releases him fully in order to bring both of his hands to Jensen’s fly. He undoes the triple buttons and slides the zipper down with quick fingers. Jensen closes his eyes, unable to watch as his – traitorous – erection is pulled from his boxers. He whimper/hisses/keens when Jared wraps a heavy, calloused hand fully around him.

“Oh, yeah,” Jared is murmuring, and Jensen closes his eyes even tighter. “Shit you’re pretty. Knew you’d be. Fuckin’ knew you’d be - so pretty everywhere, Jesus, so _gorgeous_ , knew your dick would be just as hot.”

Jensen tilts his head back. He doesn’t want to think about how long Jared has been thinking about this – _knowing_ , as he keeps saying. He gasps at the feeling of Jared’s lips – always curled into his arrogant smirk – brushing against his cock. Jared’s mouth is hanging open slightly and he is pressing messy little kisses to Jensen’s slit, then all the way down to the base. Jensen doesn’t think he can stop himself from groaning, so he brings one of his fists to his mouth and bites down on the knuckle of his thumb, not hard enough to really sting but hard enough to center him.

“No – oh, hey, no way,” Jared says when he looks up to see Jensen mouthing at his own hand. Jensen chokes out a growl when Jared moves his soft, slightly chapped, but so perfect lips away from him. Jared is smiling, heated and smug, as he reaches up to tug Jensen’s fist away from his lips. “You’re gonna let me hear every pretty little noise that comes out of those cocksucking lips. Gonna let me know, gonna show me, how much you love my mouth on you, how bad you want it.” He grasps Jensen’s other hand, then presses them both to the outside of either side. “Here, since you can’t seem to behave yourself.”

It takes a few moments for Jensen’s brain to make sense of Jared’s movements, but eventually he recognizes that Jared is trying to get Jensen to sit on his own hands – like, to literally fucking sit on his own hands, like a child. Jensen tries to yank his hands from Jared’s grip, but Jared holds firm. Their eyes lock and they stare at each other for several moments before Jensen looks away.

“Keep ‘em to your side, then,” Jared says, and pushes his giant hands into Jensen’s for emphasis. “And don’t you fuckin’ bite your tongue again.”

Jensen is going to respond – really, he is, even if he hasn’t quite worked out what to say, but then Jared’s mouth is around the head of his cock and all he can do is groan, loud and completely unabashed. Jared actually moans in response, then lowers his head, taking more of Jensen into the heat of his mouth.

“Oh – shit,” Jensen pants before he bites his lip softly. He may not be able to stop the breathy moans bubbling from his chest but he sure as shit isn’t going to vocalize the damage Jared is doing to him.

Jensen hates Jared more now than he has ever hated him –maybe more than he has ever hated anyone at any point in time. Ever. Because Jared is making good on every dirty promise he whispered when Jensen still had the wherewithal to resist; he does make it good - so, so good - and when Jensen comes, he does so with a scream.


End file.
